The Legend of the Divine Broski: ARENA: Revengeance: 67 HD REMIX
by potatosaurusrex
Summary: WOO WOO WOO, YOU'LL READ IT! *This is not canon to the Legend of Groose series* **WATCH VGCW ARENA**
1. WOO WOO WOO

It was a dark and stormy Tuesday night. I remember it clearly in my head. I was headed home from Tombstone Tacos, wandering through the streets, probably drunk off my ass. The Groose didn't need to stay all caged up, and after that Pompadoured Push-over started floundering in VGCW, I needed a fix. The bottle of cheap wine in my hand sloshed back and forth as I stumbled down the sidewalk. As I reached the end of the street, I was met with the daunting task of standing upright without the support of the walls lining the buildings along the previous avenue. I failed miserably. Slouching down against the light pole, I collapsed on the ground. I could've died on that street corner for all I cared.

As I marinated in a pool of rain, alcohol, and tears, three shadowed men began to approach from across the street. Without looking both ways, they slowly began their march across the roadway. Their steps echoed off the wet pavement, ringing like the beat of a drum in my ears. Managing to collect myself for the time being, I steadied myself with the light pole, bringing myself up to level with the three men. As they drew near, I could make out three distinct orange jackets. The footsteps drew to an abrupt close as the men stopped.

The two men in the very front didn't seem to notice me very well, but the man in back seemed to give me a dirty look. My suspicions were confirmed as he spit on my shoes, then kicked me in the shin as I keeled over in pain. "Ey, Jon, what do you think you're doin'?" one of the men in front called out.

"Hey Arin, I want to see if this bum here has good game feel."

"Jon, you're an asshat, you know that?"

"You're full of shit, Arin."

"The 'Not so Grunt' logo on the back of your shirt doesn't even match the correct shade of black."

Jon, obviously angered by this, punched the bus stop window next to me. The glass shattered, peppering Jon in the face with tiny shards of broken glass. As the small droplets of blood ran down the disgruntled man's face, his focus reset on me.

"N-no…" I stammered, struggling to regain my composure. "You can't *hic* do this to me… I made a *hic* logo… or somethin'… that one time…" Jon scoffed. "I made… *hic* I did that promo the other time…"

Jon grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me up to his face. The smell of cheap cologne and bird shit filled the air around me. His mouth hung a crooked smile, and his eyes dug into mine like the sharpest of daggers. He whispered only one word to me.

"Ech." he said.

Suddenly, he lifted me off my feet, locking me into the Grump Hug. I screamed, I kicked, I tapped, but there was nobody to save me. Or so I believed. As I was on the verge of passing out, a mysterious glimmer caught my eye from high above the dark streets of the city. A man stood tall atop a building, the light of the moon gleaming off of his smile. As soon as I had noticed him, he leapt off the building, accelerating towards the ground like a torpedo. He shot down, coming closer and closer. He lifted his leg, and delivered a flying Rough Ryder to Jon, knocking him out upon collision. Jon's suit was tattered and scorched by the sheer awesomeness of this man. The other two men hoisted Jon on their backs, and ran off into the night.

The light of the street lamp slowly faded onto the face of my client, KoopaLandInc. I shook his hand that night, and we made a pact to conquer the Lame Grunts and any other forces that stood in our way. VGCW: ARENA would never be the same.


	2. A Misunderstanding? Really?

"That's not what happened at all!" I screamed, slamming down my fist on the keyboard. My client sat beside me. "Can you believe this?" I asked him. My client released a series of angry "woos" before standing up, taking his chair, and throwing it out the window. "You really think someone would do that? Just go on the internet and tell lies?" KoopaLandInc let out an affirmative "woo".

I was furious. Outraged. Sick with anger. How dare he try and proclaim that I was out of my sane mind. Koopa helped me out, and I planned to return the favor. Donning a suit and tie, I took my client out of the office and into the streets, looking for answers.

* * *

I was a man with a past in the company, but the time stretching before that was a mystery to many. I made my name here. This is where I would stake myself. I lead my client back to the very street corner where the friendship to last eons ahead was forged in the blood of a Grunt. He recognized this place, as did I. Pulling up the account of the night given by that liar, it was evident immediately something was wrong. For starters, the bus stop's glass remained shattered. Though some time had passed since that night, tattered scraps of orange were littered across the sidewalk. Those dastardly Grunts were hiding something.

Upon a quick observation, more than a few street cameras were uncovered. Quickly tracing the source back to the bus station itself, Koopa and I set off to uncover the truth behind what happened that fateful night.

We quickly ran through the city, reaching the bus station in fair time. It was a large brick building, with a parked bus in front. There were several faded posters on the walls advocating bus safety. A large clock sat above the doorway, though it had stopped working ages ago. I couldn't recall a time when it did, actually. Making a dash across the street, we approached the door to the bus station. Letting ourselves in, we were greeted with a lone secretary asleep on the job. My client hopped over the desk and fumbled around with a security VHS. Upon the machine's failure to operate correctly, he simply broke it over his knee, removing the tape from the scrap heap.

We both walked out of the door, tape in hand and one step closer to exposing those menacing heels for what they truly were. One lone thing would end up standing in our way. As we stood on the sidewalk, an engine roared to life. The bus shot forward, rapidly approaching the two of us. I quickly dove out of the way. My client stood in the path of the bus, unwavering. The bus crashed into him, exploding upon impact. As the smoke cleared, I spotted an all-to-familiar figure running off into the distance, cursing under his breath. I feared the worst for my client.

Koopa emerged from the rubble completely unharmed. Through a series of mismatched woos, he explained the power of his ego had struck the bus with fear, and the bus itself decided it would rather blow up instead of dying at the hands of my client. He survived in pristine condition through sheer willpower. In one hand, he held an unmistakable hat. In the other, he held a scorched tape, half disintegrated. I took the hat in my hand and clenched my fist. He would pay for trying to hurt my client.

"Come on… you've got a match tonight." We might not have had a match against them, but we would show Team Flare Grunt that we meant business.

"Woo woo woo?"

"Yes."

"Woo."


End file.
